


Leave my Body

by cherrycokeisnice



Series: City of Rain [2]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:40:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24821737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrycokeisnice/pseuds/cherrycokeisnice
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Kobra Kid (Danger Days)
Series: City of Rain [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792723
Kudos: 4





	Leave my Body

He woke up far rougher than how he went to sleep. His dreams didn’t normally involve someone dragging him by the lapels of his school blazer, nor did they involve his knees suddenly slamming against the pavement. When Grant opened his eyes, he saw a looming, glass building in front of him, the familiar Better Living logo embossed on the side. He realised after a few second that, one, his knees were still dragging along the pavement, and two, that fucking hurt. He scrambled to his feet, and walked at the same brisk pace as the guards, though his side was screaming at him to stop. By the time they made it to the doors of the HQ, Grant had tears in his eyes.

“Please, just slow down a little. I won’t try and escape, I promise.” Nothing, not even a word, still. The guards didn’t seem to care that little droplets of blood, falling from Grant’s legs where the pavement had scratched them, were staining the dull, solid grey floor. They turned right, and then left, and then right again. Grant tried to make a note of where they going, mark the walls with a bit of his blood, but all that got him was his arm twisted behind his back.

Left. Right. Left again, and then again, and then right. Where was he? Where were they taking him? The holding cells obviously, but where were they? Grant looked for a distinguishing feature, peeling wallpaper, a stain, a door that was slightly ajar, but there was nothing. Everything looked the same, oh jesus oh fuck everything looked the same. Grant began to breathe heavily, the tears that had formed in his eyes due to the pain now rolling down his face. He was mumbling “oh shit oh jesus oh shit” under his breath, and the guards seemingly had stopped caring about whether he sweared, as they said nothing to correct him, and only kept walking.

Left again, right again, left again, right again. It turned into a song in Grant’s head, and before long, the words became meaningless, and so did everything else around him. His head was pounding, he had gone without medication for far longer than usual, and all the pain in his back and side, plus the fact he was in BLI HQ for fuck’s sake was making him panic. And then they got to the cell.

The cell was little more than a closet, made to look like something out of Star Wars. White and the lightest, bird egg blue lined the walls, and everything was smooth, almost shining. This was no drug induced haze giving that impression however-there wasn’t a hint of sharpness in that room. Grant was guided into the cell, having to walk sideways to get in there. And then, just as the door slid shut, without even so much as a *click* let alone a slam, Grant saw them. Shivering, black hair soaked and hanging down past their shoulders, staring at him with eyes like a scared puppy.

The one they would later come to know as Ghoul.

The previous night, apartment devoid of sound, Alex had pulled on his boots as quietly as possible. The laces had been pre-tied, not too tight that Alex had to work to get them on, and therefore strain and make some noise, but tight enough for the boots not to flop around and scrape against the hard, smooth floor. The boots were cleaned to the point of being shiny, and Alex slipped them on and stood up quickly but not in a panicked way. He had to keep calm, and had to be as efficient as possible. 

Alex was nearly out the door when he remembered. The binder. For fuck’s sake. He walked briskly, lightly back, dodging all of the places he had stepped on his way to the door, and fished under the bed for it. Alex quickly took his shirt off, and put the binder on, fastening it as quickly as he could, He pulled his t-shirt back on, and within a minute, Alex was out the door and pacing down the steps of the apartment complex.

Alex made his way across the city, with a route he had used many times over the past year, and tweaked ever so slightly each time. Patrols were often changing, after all, as one of Battery City’s slogans was “Evil never sleeps-and neither do we.” He had the route memorized by heart. Left, right, left, right, right, left, straight ahead, check for sweepers, left, right, and left again.

He was there. He talked, he mingled, he watched a fight go down between two dealers. And then he kept moving. The City was quiet at night, and to some, that was distressing. To Alex however, the quiet let him hear the symphony of the city, the little whirrrrs and buzzes of the sweeper droids, the clicks of the foot patrols reloading their guns. Alex knew this piece by heart, knew the tunes of tyranny. He didn't, however, know the wiles of the weather, not even in the city built on predetermination

Rain. Alex turned and began to run back home, trying desperately to make it back before the worst of the downpour came down. He stayed in doorways, he ran under the plastic trees, he did all he could to avoid getting soaked. But when Alex walked through the door of his apartment, it was clear to his father Alex had been out in the rain. It was clear to Alex, as he walked in the door, that he was in for a rough night.


End file.
